


Angel On Fire

by malprince



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Irresponsible Drug Use, overdose attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 19:23:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12087714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malprince/pseuds/malprince
Summary: "'Cause I'd laugh and drink and talk 'bout thingsAnd fall in love in my backyardNow it's my own anxiety that makes the conversation hard'Cause nobody seems to ask about me anymoreAnd nobody ever cares 'bout anything I thinkAnd nobody seems to recognize me in the crowdIn the background screamin', "everybody, look at me"And I'm faded away, you know, I used to be on fire"--Angel On Fire, Halsey





	Angel On Fire

**Author's Note:**

> songfic sort of, based on the song  
> i just wanted to write nathan as we probably didn't get to see him in the game  
> so many things are referenced or implied about his character  
> i just think he's really interesting  
> let me know if this sucks  
> i based this event on similar meltdowns ive had  
> it takes place at honestly any point in the game

Metal scraping metal  _ (skreeeeee) _ , dragging long and sharp on a ridge, screaming like grinding teeth down to the gums and biting fingernails down to stubs. Overstimulated, overheated, sweating down into his sheets, making them stick  _ (disgusting) _ to his skin where his shirt _ (wet, how long has he been sweating?) _ rides up. Is the window open? His thick, dark drapes would kill any breeze before it gets in anyway  _ (like an antibody) _ . His head hurts, the back is heavy and the front is swimming. His eyes burn through his skull and drop out the bottom. He's under water, struggling to breathe, tossing and turning, body cumbersome and unresponsive. Tangled in sheets  _ (sheets?) _ .

Nathan forces his eyes open and finds himself staring at his bedside table, legs twisted into his bedsheets, in a waking nightmare once again.

He curses lightly under his breath, only quiet due to the lack of air in his lungs. He reaches through the fugue and grabs his lighter, fumbling fingers shaking and dropping it twice, making his stomach clench furiously. He has been so quick to anger for the past few years, something that scares his friends and peers and doctors but only barely irritates his father. The aftermath of his fits, at least, catch his father's attention. The destruction. The bigger the bill, the longer the email he receives.

Sitting up encourages the rushing in his head, so he shoves his back to the wall and props himself there. It's hard to roll a joint when his hands shake this bad, but without the meds it would be worse. The noise. The sounds. They come from different places but are both equally upsetting when they reach a certain volume. The pills muffle it. The alcohol quiets it. The combination-

He manages to twist the paper into shape and light the end, pulling smoke into his mouth and into his body and chasing out a little of the brain fog. Another intake leaves him feeling almost okay.

And then his phone buzzes on the bedside table and he remembers.

"Fuck."

The fog is gone, his brain is as clear as it can be, and he's angry.

The last rational part of his brain forces his hand to put the still lit joint into his ashtray, but then he's wobbling off of the bed, stumbling over a pile of clothes, throwing his arm out to steady himself but knocking his prescription pills off the bedside table. He didn't bother replacing the tops correctly the last time he took a dose, of course, so the blue and yellow pills spill recklessly all over his floor. The resulting noise, inconvenience, and mess only serve to make him angrier.

"God, you complete fucking-" Finding himself incapable of coming up with a good enough insult for himself winds him up even further and he kicks out at the bedside table, rattling it good enough to knock his headphones down. It hurts his foot, though at least he fell asleep fully dressed again, so the impact shudders through his shoe and hurts less than it would have otherwise.

His phone clattering onto the ground captures his attention. The screen is still lit up.

Remembering who he is, Nathan shakes himself back to near rationality. He needs to respond to that message, at least halfway competently.

Or else he loses the opportunity to contribute work to the only thing he's somewhat decent at.

He gropes for his phone, swiping the screen once his hands stop seizing from tremors.

It's him. Of course. It's his burner phone. Idiot.

He lets out a soft noise of disappointment when its another message about how incompetent and inadequate he is. His hands start to shake again and his neck twitches painfully to the side. If he wanted to hear about how much of a piece of shit he is, he could reread the text messages he's gotten sporadically from his father.

The phone rejoins his pills on the floor, and his ass quickly follows. He collapses onto his side and watches one of his pills for a while. It cracked and split when his phone bounced off of it, and now it's crumbling into the carpet. Like many others, it'll get crushed in and stuck there forever. It's not like Nathan is going to vacuum his own room. Or let anyone else in to do it.

The pink from his florescents bathe him in their light.

He reaches weakly for a handful of the unbroken pills, coming up with a mixture of at least ten blues and yellows. He throws them and the carpet lint he also picked up into his gaping mouth and tries to swallow them.

He's as pathetic now as he ever has been, so he chokes, and curls in on himself to spit them out, spit trailing a disgusting line down his cheek and chin. He can feel acid at the back of his throat, but he hasn't eaten in at least three days (excepting the coffee he drinks), so the bile is thin. Tears well up in his eyes. They burn too.

He presses his forehead into the carpet and sobs.

**Author's Note:**

> i relate to psychotic characters who aren't taken seriously


End file.
